


Sea

by Sionnan



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-27
Updated: 2011-01-27
Packaged: 2017-10-15 03:43:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/156692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sionnan/pseuds/Sionnan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Why Gamzee, clowns, subjugglators, and the dark carnivale had it right all along.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sea

For whatever we lose (like a you or a me)  
It's always ourselves that we find in the sea.  
-e.e. cummings

Someone had better be prepared for rage.  
There will be more than ocean water-broken  
Before God's last Put Out the Light was spoken.  
-Robert Frost

 

It was probably a good thing that Gamzee lived so far away from pretty much anybody. It wasn't exactly something he thought about too much. He didn't think too deeply on a lot of things, like the reason that he got a place on the seashore was on account of his indigo blood, or that he remained fairly unmolested regarding his faith because there was really no one around to go getting their peek on through his windows.

The fact was that, even though he was alone for miles, even though his lusus left him to his own devices for days, weeks at a time, in some way, it was probably better for Gamzee Makara. The isolation was what allowed something dark and unnameable to form slowly, twisting and thriving from his shadow.

If someone had spent or taken the time to watch Gamzee Makara, someone would have seen it, if it would have even developed at all. Now, it was far too careful, far too clever. At a certain point, it would have reached a point where impossible to stop, like it was now. At first, even Gamzee was afraid of it; but gradually, as he stared into its eyes, he realized something very important.

It had been here all along.

This whole hot/cold routine? Nothing new. Nothing at all. Except for the most part, he was never quite around for the "hot" phases. And by that, he was just kind of off somewhere else in his brain space. His favorite place to just go and consider life and think (or not think) was out by the water, watching the crash and swell, the inoxerable rhythm of the sea, like the mammoth heartbeat of an ancient slumbering creature. It never failed to get his Zen on. He always woke feeling a little disconcerted, but content and refreshed, and then he would go and listen to music from the little iGrub he hooked up to his husktop or something.

Life was beautiful.

All of those times he kind of zoned out, spaced out, checked out? Something else came out. Someone he never knew, and someone that no one else knew, either. While Gamee didn't really know him, he knew Gamzee very well. He was smart, and he was sly. He never hit up Gamzee's friends, not wanting to botch the whole burgeoning darkly humorous movement before it had a chance to rise, not wanting to give them a different boy with face paint. He stuck to the limning of the world, and spoke in whispers, because it wasn't time just yet.

Mostly, that Gamzee spoke to the others who believed in the land of the mirthful messiahs. He would hold heated chat sessions, forum debates, memo logging, and carefully delete every last one of them when he was done, before Gamzee was stirring to wake. He knew that not even he himself could be trusted with the nascent religion, barely skirting around the outside edges of peoples' fears and dreams. Because, you see, that was the key.

Dreaming and fearing.

When trolls learned how to build technology to conquer their natures, mold and shape them, and eventually rein and hone them to serve their ambitions, they lost their darkness. The perpetual dusk and gloom they thrived in since ancient times were now filled with artificial lights. The urges and hatred steeped in their minds, curbed by soothing artificiants, they lost their dreams. The dreams filled with blood and gnashing teeth and screams, a litany and a harmony that had graced their collective minds since the days of the first cave trolls, lost to the inevitable advance of time and civilization.

It crippled them. It destroyed them.

Very few trolls recognized this. Didn't see how blunt their teeth were becoming, or how their society was evolving into a world bloated with self importance, ineffectual positions, skills that arose to offer checks to the outgrowths inherent in advance.

The revelation only ever dawned on those who could see it, and strip it away with a laugh. The trolls who mocked for their profession, jested about the foils of society while bathing in blood, those who were seen themselves as jokes of the rest of the Alternian military. To be able to laugh at something was to recognize its basest nature.

And the clowns knew, generation by generation, that trolls were loosing their darkness and their dreams.

It would take a revolution to remind them. A celebration of their nature. An event, a jubilee.

A dark carnivale.

Out by the sea, Gamzee Makara would consider the birth of their world. If indeed the facts from being schoolfed were true, and the first form of life scuttled ashore from the sea, then it was fitting that a rebirth should be hatched by it as well. Of course, Gamzee, later, would eschew that in favor of the simpler explanation of miracles, ignoring the strange wash of unease that flooded him at the thought. But watching the waves tumble over each other, and listening to the bugle of water lussii as they roiled beneath the surface, he imagined that perhaps the sea offered something as strange and as terrible as what used to be in the dreams of trolls.

In the rare moments of clear, black rage that swept through his entire body, his pulse throbbing and ebbing with the tide, Gamzee knew that the sea offered clarity. Purpose.

Darkness and terror.


End file.
